


Tracing

by Skyzuki



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 08:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14053455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyzuki/pseuds/Skyzuki
Summary: Cain is an instigator; he likes argument, he likes conflict, he likes having the last word.He’s just like this.





	Tracing

**Author's Note:**

> hello ya'll!! this was very rushed, my writing has been rly slipping lately and i just wanted to get something out before i completely lost all motivation lmaooo  
> these sf updates having been k i l l i n g me, i've been reading this comic for four years now, and all i want is a happy ending.  
> originally meant to be a companion piece to Humming.

The sudden weight of a human body crashing down onto the bedroll startles Ethan out of an already thin slumber.

 The occurrence isn’t a rare one; his fighter delights in binge drinking into the dead hours of the morning, incoherently stumbling back to their shared rooms, stripping down to his briefs, and dropping onto the shroud of thin pillows and blankets that line the ground. He always knocks out straight away, snoring loudly and stealing most of the covers.

Cain is a grown man- regardless of how his immature tendencies work to betray this fact- he can take care of himself. Ethan is not his mother; this self-destructive behavior isn’t anything that he can change overnight. The worries for his partner don’t override the fact that they are at war, the quarrelsome tendencies of his fighter shouldn’t bother him this much.

 _Fighters are just like this,_ he thinks, _they’re rowdy and wild and you know that._

It isn’t even the drinking that unnerves Ethan; it’s the fighting, and the subsequent injuries. Cain has bloodied their sheets and refused medical attention more times than Ethan can remember. The wounds level in severity from cuts and scrapes, to gashes and fractures. It’s a mixed bag, Ethan has come to realize, a different scenario to fret about every time he staggers in.

Cain is an instigator; he likes argument, he likes conflict, he likes having the last word.

_He’s just like this._

Sleeping, Cain tends to look even more tense than he does awake; eyebrows furrowed, limbs constantly twitching, unconsciously grumbling out vocalizations that sometimes sound like words. It was apparent right away -the first night they slept in close proximity- that his mind had an aversion to letting him rest unfettered.

He is so obviously exhausted. Tonight, he’s earned a thin scrape on his cheek, already scabbing over with dried blood. It’s impressively minimal, considering his track record. Aside from the scratch; he’s nursing a fairly fresh and probably still-painful knife wound on his side. He must’ve taken it easy tonight, considering.

Ethan allows himself to stare at the bandages wrapped around his waist. They’re due for a change, stained with sweat and turning ruddy where they press over the laceration.

Cain’s refusal to visit the medbay has always been an issue, but that particular injury struck fear in Ethan. He shook him awake, sounding almost frantic ( _Abel, I need you,_ he said), rough palms and white linens dyed red. His endless sleep-thrashing must’ve irritated it, and it was once again up to Ethan to fix his fighter’s mess. He’d been tending to the admittedly nasty-looking gash for the past three nights, practically begging Cain to see a physician all the while.

Where they rest on the pillow beside him, Cain’s knuckles are mottled with bruises and scars that pre-date their relationship. Traces of dirt and machine oil linger underneath his jagged fingernails (he bites at them when he’s holding himself back, often makes his cuticles bleed). His hair is dirty from the day, his lips are chapped, even from a slight distance, Ethan can smell the alcohol on his breath.

Before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out to trace the new scratch with the pad of his thumb; the kind of too-gentle touch that the fighter would never allow, were he awake. From his cheek, Ethan tucks a wayward lock of dark hair behind Cain’s ear.

He feels himself smiling a little, dumbly. They’ve been _together_ for long enough that this kind of action shouldn’t feel so foreign. Physically, Ethan knows every line of this mans body. So why does this feel so illicit?

Before he can stop himself, Ethan is running his palm along the expanse of bandaged skin around Cain’s torso. The wound was not fatal, the bleeding stopped with relative ease, and the scar will be prominent but easily concealed. Ethan still does not know the context behind the incident, and doubts that Cain himself even fully remember. To any sober-minded person, his fights usually come across as petty excuses for confrontation.

His dumb smile fades, and now Ethan feels himself frowning as he looks at Cain’s sleep-slack features. The bandages are a bit rough under the soft skin of his hand, the standard kind that could be found in any first aid kit. Ethan had to suture the area on his own, trying to ignore Cain’s loud cursing and wriggling.

He’s going to turn around and try to get some rest himself, but he feels a shift next to him before he can; a hand catches around his delicate wrist.

Cain wears an expression that tries for annoyance but comes across more as weary and confused. The shadows under his eyes are impressively dark, and Ethan suddenly feels bad for waking him. Undisturbed sleep is a rare occurrence for the fighter, and he needs all the rest he can get.

They don’t say anything for a long few seconds, just gaze at each other in slight bewilderment.

Ethan settles on: “You need to change those bandages.”

“Okay.” Cain replies, but it sounds more like a question than anything.

“Okay,” Ethan repeats, unsure how to end this conversation. “Well. Do that in the morning.”

“You woke me up for that?” Cain grumbles, still a bit drunk.

“No, I- “ _I was caressing your face while you were passed out next to me. “_ No, sorry, goodnight.”

He isn’t thinking straight; he leans over and presses a quick kiss to Cain’s forehead before he turns himself on his side, facing the wall. He wants to apologize for that, too, but there’s no point in it now.

Ethan tries his best to feign sleep, until he feels another shift, and an arm is suddenly slung over his waist, tugging him backward until his back hits Cain’s chest. He feels steady breath on the nape of his neck, and Ethan realizes all at once how incredibly intimate this arrangement is.

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, stupidly, and his little smile returns.


End file.
